


Into the Unknown

by hecateandhoney (LiveLoveLikeMe)



Category: Downton Abbey, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: AU In which Baxter is Polly's Lady's Maid, Crossover, Downton Abbey/Peaky Blinders Crossover, F/F, Romance, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLoveLikeMe/pseuds/hecateandhoney
Summary: Phyllis is not afraid of the dark, and she definitely does not believe in the spirits like Polly does, so why is she so sure someone is watching her?  And why is the room suddenly so cold?A spooky-cute Downton Abbey/Peaky Blinders crossover AU in which Phyllis Baxter works as Polly's lady's maid instead of going to Downton. This is F/F between Polly/Baxter.





	Into the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hi, hello! Yes, this is a crossover between Downton and Peaky, pretty much so I can shamelessly ship Polly and Baxter. But listen, they would be SO cute, okay? This is actually part of a much larger AU-verse, which I'm currently working on a sizable Multi-Chapter for, but I couldn't resist having a little Halloween fun! You don't need to really be familiar with either show for this to make sense, just know that Phyllis came to work as Polly's lady's maid, and this takes place sometime after season 4 of Peaky. 
> 
> Shout out to foxx-queen for basically prompting this entire thing.

Phyllis Baxter is being ridiculous, and it’s all the fault of her ladyship, though she certainly refuses to admit as much.  Ghosts aren’t real.  The spirits don’t return to the land of the living, restlessly haunting the unsuspecting when the lights are low and the world quietly sleeps on.  Polly may believe in all of these things, may see auras and the souls of the dead congregating around her, and Phyllis believes Polly genuinely does believe this to be true, but there’s nothing that can convince her to believe the same.

Yet as she huddles under the blankets on her bed in the dark, eyes clamped shut for fear that some shadow might move against nature, she can’t help but blame Polly for putting the idea in her head that the spirits could be real. 

The room is colder than usual, and even under the blankets her lady had provided against the brisk October air, she shivers.  An eerie whistling sounds low from the window, and she sighs in relief.  There’s only a draft. 

Albeit, one that has never been quite so strong, but that’s just more of Polly getting to her head.

Polly always seems to have a way of getting to her head about things she’d rather not consider.

Yet, telling herself this does nothing to slow Phyllis’ pounding heart.  The blood rushes in pulses through her ears like hot waves, making her shiver against the contrasting cold all the harder, and every hair on the back of her neck is standing to attention.

Someone is looking at her.

She knows it as well as she knows her own name.  Somewhere in this room, someone or _something_ is silently watching her, and has been for the past hour, halting her from relaxing into her dreams.  She can feel their eyes quietly probing to make contact with her own, but Phyllis refuses.

She keeps her eyes clenched tightly shut, and she stays rolled towards the wall, knowing somehow instinctively that the eyes that shouldn’t exist are behind her waiting.  And as long as she remains this way, and doesn’t look at them, she can keep convincing herself that it’s only Polly getting to her head.

It’s only the wind.

Only the unknown quality of darkness.

And if she stays like this long enough, maybe the oncoming storm will pass them by, and maybe the sun will quickly rise, and the watching eyes will go away with it.

Phyllis tries her best to be still, to even out her breaths in the hopes that it might falsely believe she’s fallen asleep and leave her alone, but still she trembles as though wracked with fever.  The floorboard by her bed lets out a creak, and she whimpers, blowing the rest of her disguise.

It’s moving closer.

So close it’s nearly upon her.

And it knows she can sense it, knows she’s fighting the urge to open her eyes like it wants.

There’s another creak, this time closer.  Phyllis tries to remember who Polly prays to—has never paid much mind to it herself, but thinks now as her death looms closer, it might be wise to start. 

The room falls silent, not even the wind whistling through the crack in the window, only the sound of Phyllis’ own breathing and the constantly pounding rush of blood in her ears. 

It’s upon her.

She feels something cool against her cheek.  It reminds her of the hot puff of a breath, but it’s all wrong and icy, and she doesn’t think lungs should ever freeze the air so unnaturally. 

Phyllis holds her breath, a last ditch effort to disguise herself among the blankets, but the cold puff comes again, and then she hears it.

Unidentifiable, yet so crisp and distinct it might as well have been spoken right up against her ear.

“Phyllis.”

She can’t help it now as her eyes fly open and she flings herself off the bed, a haze of blue swirling around her as she makes haste for the door.  Her lungs ache to work again, but Phyllis can’t so much as scream even as she tears open the door and stumbles into the hall, trying to feel her way around in the dark.  She doesn’t pause to think where she’s going, or to try and find a light switch, and it is for this reason that she crashes painfully into a small table holding a vase of flowers in the hall that stretches towards Polly’s bedroom.

The glass vase shatters and she slips to the floor, legs no longer willing to move while she whimpers and covers her head as a last ditch effort to survive.  There are footsteps and a thump as it gains on her, the spirit that knows her name coming for her in the darkness and—

“Whoever the fuck is—Baxter?”

The hallway lights flicker on, and at the sound of the familiar voice, Phyllis raises her head and sees Polly standing in the doorway to her own bedroom, gun cocked in stark contrast to her silk dressing gown, eyes blazing for a fight.

“Christ,” Polly mutters, lowering the gun and eyeing the shattered vase spilled all across her floor.  “I thought someone broke in, I could’ve shot you.”

The image of Polly, gun pointed at her, is the last fright Phyllis can take in one night.  Her breath catches up with her and rushes in with a tide of emotions, and they well up inside her chest and her eyes.  She’s panting dizzily and sobbing as hot tears leak freely down her cheeks, unable to calm the storm erupting inside her as the bottled fear is shaken too hard to be contained.

Phyllis barely registers Polly picking her way across the broken shards to kneel by her side, jolts when her hand touches Phyllis’ arm and she sees she’s right there in front of her. It’s like her fingers are magic and her palm sends out a wave of calm across Phyllis.  She sucks in a shaky breath and tries to steady herself.

Polly’s here now.  She’s safe.

Or is she?  Is it still waiting for her, just a few steps behind?

“It’s just a vase, there’s no need for all this over it.”  But it’s not just a vase.  “Come on.  Back to bed, Baxter.”

“No, Milady!” Phyllis whispers sharply, grabbing hold of Polly’s arm in a way propriety would never let her dare during the day.  Tonight, she feels wild, exposed to a newness she hasn’t learned the rules for yet.  “My room.  There was someone—”

Phyllis doesn’t get the chance to finish.  Polly rips herself from Phyllis’ grip, readjusting her hold on the gun, and she stalks the rest of the way down the short hall to Phyllis’ room and bursts in gun first.

Phyllis doesn’t want to move from the safety of the floor, doesn’t want to go back to that room that’s too cold and the eyes that watch her sleep, but more than that, she doesn’t want Polly in there alone.  A strength bubbles up in her legs at the thought, and she stands with a pained groan, making her way after Polly back towards the room, teeth clenched.

When she gets there, the light’s on, and Polly’s checking the window.  As a servant, her room is modest—it’s already an extravagance to be upstairs, but Polly likes to have her close.  There’s little to search, and Polly’s already covered every inch.  Under the bed, behind the door, and she’s flung open the wardrobe too small to hold more than a child.

“Window’s still locked, there’s no one here.  You’ve just been having a dream,” Polly explains without nonsense, slipping the gun back into her dressing gown’s pocket. 

She knows it wasn’t a dream, though.  Knows she was too frightened to drift off, knows the sensations had been real and on this plane, despite how little sense they made.  Phyllis shakes her head tearfully and tries to back out of the room, but Polly is upon her in two quick steps, and she directs the lady’s maid over to her bed and sits her down, taking a seat beside her.

“It’s just a vase—I’ll have the maid clean it up in the morning.  I know I’ve broken my fair share of them.”

Phyllis bites her lip and looks at Polly’s warm, tired eyes, and her heart sinks.  Here she is, awake and checking her room in the middle of the night, comforting Phyllis when she should be angered by the disturbance.  Any other lady would be, yet Polly’s always been different, and not just from her upbringing.  There is trust in those eyes, strength.  She ought to be fired right then and there, and thinks she’ll suggest as much, but first Polly needs to know the rest.

“I didn’t mean there was a person in here, Milady, and I know I wasn’t asleep.  I could feel someone watching me, and I tried to ignore it, tell myself it was just the dark twisting me into a fool.  But then, it was so cold, and I heard noises like someone moving close, but I was too afraid to look.”

Polly’s interest piques at this, and she leans in closer, staring at the air around Phyllis as if there’s something only she can see.  “Was there more?”

Phyllis swallows thickly.  Knowing Polly believes in the spirits is one thing, but voicing an idea about them out loud to her still seems foolish, like she’ll laugh at Phyllis for giving into fantasies and throw her out.

But she knows it’s only old fears creeping up on her, knows Polly is a kind heart, a loyal soul.  Knows that anything she says will be taken with the utmost level of belief, and that no matter what she says, Polly will fix it.  She always knows how to fix things that seem impossible.

“I…” Phyllis lets out her breath and twists her shaking hands together.  Saying it can’t make it any more real than it already is.  “I felt a breath on my cheek.  Only, it wasn’t warm, Milady.  It was like ice.  And…”

“And?”

“There was a voice, like it was coming from right…” she gestures to her ear and flushes, embarrassed as she remembers what followed.

“I couldn’t take it anymore after that, so I opened my eyes and ran for it.  Only I couldn’t find my way in the dark as well as I’d hoped.”

Polly snorts at this, but Phyllis only feels like melting into her bed in shame.  Some adult she is, running from things that go bump in the night, making a mess of herself.

“When you opened your eyes, could you see anything in here?”

She thinks on it, trying to remember the blur of shadows and thuds on her way out.

“Might’ve been a blue mist above my bed, but I was in such a state and moving so quickly, I may have just imagined it.”

Polly looks thoughtful at this, but if it means anything to her, she says nothing.

“And the voice.  It said something?”

“My name.”

“Baxter?”

“Phyllis,” she says with a sigh.  “But I don’t see how that matters.  Do you think me incredibly foolish?”

She’s not sure what response she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not Polly to crack with laughter.  The calming hand returns to her arm, rubbing up and down, and Phyllis feels a fraction of the tension leave her stiff muscles.  She’ll be sore come morning.

“Of course not.  If anything, I’m relieved.  Maybe now when I speak of the things I see, you won’t have that look on your face.”

Phyllis gapes at her, sure she’s never shown her ladyship any disrespect, but Polly waves her off with her free hand before she can refute it.  “I know you meant nothing by it, you just hadn’t been touched by the other planes in the same way yet.”

She thinks Polly’s words over for a moment.  “So that’s what it was then?  A… spirit?”

Polly shrugs and sniffs sharply at the air.  “Could’ve been.  I can still feel a little lingering energy.  Whoever it was, they knew your name.  Whether that’s good or not, well… suppose that depends on who it was.”

Phyllis blanches.  “You can’t tell?”

“Not now.  We can always call it back and ask?”

“NO!  I mean, please Milady, don’t do that.  I don’t much like to admit it when you’re so brave, but I’m frightened.”  She’s trembling again, even under the weight of Polly’s hand, which tenses around her in response like a tether.

“Christ!  Relax, I won’t.  Not tonight anyways.  I’m sure it’s long scared off for the time being.  You should get some sleep.”

“I don’t think I could do that.  I’ll just start preparing the day for you, Milady.”  The thought of being trapped in the darkness of those four walls, where the being could return, makes her stomach flip almost as hard as Polly’s gaze—the only difference, she thinks, is that she’s grown accustomed to how Polly makes her feel.  Even when those feelings strike against her, she’s learned to be prepared.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Come on, up you go,” Polly implores, standing and tugging Baxter up with her.

“Where to, Milady?”

She thinks she would follow Polly anywhere if it got her away from this room.  Perhaps even if it didn’t.

“Baxter, it’s the middle of the night, I have no patience for this polite shit and I certainly feel far from a lady.  Just call me Polly.”  It’s said sternly, but with that reliable warmth she always uses when speaking to Baxter, and she trusts it, even if the idea is a scandalous thought.

“I couldn’t, it’s not proper Mi-”

“It’s Polly, or I leave you to your ghost and go back to sleep alone.”

Phyllis swallows.  Polly means it, she always does in that firm way she has about her when she’s challenged. 

“If that’s what you wish.”

“It is.  You’ve seen my body, you can call me by my name.  C’mon, you’re not on duty tonight, there’s no need for all that nonsense with me.”

Phyllis has to bite back a smirk as she blushes at the image of Polly naked.  Certainly, as a duty of her job, she has on many occasions, and try as she might, she’s always found it harder with Polly to forget them.  But to hear Polly put it like that, she might as well be suggesting Phyllis has joined her in bed.

At that thought, it’s all she can do not to bury her head in her hands in shame for even entertaining it.    Polly is watching quietly, face giving nothing away, and Phyllis knows she needs to pull herself together before she does begin to question the odd look on her face.

“Then, where are you taking me… Polly?”  The name feels strange on her tongue, but not as wrong as she expected.  A little thrill jolts through her at the thought.

“Much better.”  Polly smiles, satisfied, like a cat that’s trapped her mouse.  “And I’m taking you to my room.  I’ve just the thing to fix you right up.”

Polly’s room is not uncharted waters for Baxter.  In fact, many days, she spends more time there preparing Polly’s things and dressing her than she does in her own.  But this is different, somehow.  This is Polly reversing the roles, wanting to sit _her_ down and fix _her_ up.

This is anarchy in a night where first names are used by ladies and spirits alike—Phyllis doesn’t know these rules, if there even are any, or if it’s too late for the ones she’s come to trust in to return come morning. 

But she trusts Polly, even as the structure of her world is crumbling to pieces around her, so Phyllis follows.

Polly steps around the glass like it’s not even there, and when Phyllis hesitates, she reaches out the hand not holding her gun to help her across.  Phyllis takes it in her own, smiling quietly at the warm grip.  Polly is safe, secure, and she makes it to the other side unharmed.

They’re quiet heading into Polly’s room, the stillness of night once more settling down around them, and Polly switches off the lights behind them after ushering Phyllis inside.  Her chamber is warm, a fire edging towards a simmer in the wall opposite the bed.  Even in the day, it’s not Phyllis’ job to tend the fires, but she rose through the ranks as a maid once before and still remembers how.  The chill of the breath on her cheek can’t seem to leave her, no matter how many times Polly touches her with those warm hands, so she tends to it without being asked.

Polly says nothing of the matter, instead moving about to return her gun to its proper place and tinkling with something on her dresser that Phyllis can’t see. 

“So, Phyllis.”  Polly hesitates on the name for a moment, meeting her eyes to let loose a glimpse of doubt, seeking approval.  Phyllis nods just as subtly and Polly lets out a breath before continuing, “Have a seat.”  Though there is a sizeable enough seating area by the fire that any proper woman would assume to be their destination, Polly gestures undeniably towards the bed, and she doesn’t wait for Phyllis to catch up before she’s shedding her dressing gown, plopping down herself, and leaning back against the pillows.

There are two glasses with a small amount of amber liquid in them clutched in Polly’s hands.  She rolls her eyes when Phyllis stands watching stiffly nearby.

“Afraid the big bad wolf’s hiding in my sheets?” Polly asks, snorting into her own glass as she knocks it back in one swing.  “Sleep in an uncomfortable chair if you’d rather.  Your choice, but you’re welcome to join me here.”

The chair is the superior choice, really, if for no other reason than the fact that Phyllis wants desperately to join Polly—wolf and all.  She doesn’t trust herself or what she might do if left in such an intimate position with all these new rules she doesn’t yet know.  She usually has a structure, and it keeps her eyes from wandering where they shouldn’t, keeps her mind in line with the propriety of her station. 

But even by the fire the chill left by the spirit isn’t warmed in quite the way Polly’s hands had before, and she’s looking at her so softly where she lounges on the bed, claws of the daytime hidden away.

Before she can regret her choice, Phyllis sits stiffly at the end of Polly’s bed.  From here, she can stop herself before she goes too far.

“You’re still trembling from the shock.  Here, drink this, it’ll help.”  Polly leans down and hands her the other glass.  She sniffs it and winces as it burns her nose.

“What is it?”

“Whiskey.  Best to drink it all down in one swing—it’s strong.”

Phyllis does as instructed, throat burning as it slides down, and she coughs even as Polly takes the glass back from her and walks it over to the stand.  She can’t deny the warmth that spreads through her, though, and is grateful for the vile thing.

Her head sways slightly, but there’s a peacefulness to it as her muscles begin to unclench.

Polly walks back with a lit cigarette pursed between her lips and offers one to Phyllis.

“I don’t smoke.”

Polly shrugs and tosses the pack onto her end table, puffing away at her own.  The scent is calming, perhaps because she’s come to associate it with Polly, and she finds herself shifting ever so slightly closer.

“Come on, now, up and under the covers.  That whiskey will help you to sleep soon enough.”

Phyllis follows as Polly does the same, walking around to the other side of the bed and tucking herself in as far from the other woman as she can.  Polly watches her steadily, letting the smoke slowly glide between her pursed lips with a look she can’t quite read. 

“Is it always like that?” Phyllis asks once she’s settled.  Polly’s turned off the lights, but the glow of the fireplace still illuminates them.  She feels just this once she may be able to speak a little more freely, and she samples how it feels.

“What?”

“When you see spirits.  Is it always so cold and tense?”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes not.  Does it matter?”

“No,” Phyllis says, trying to shut her eyes to forget it.  The whiskey’s beginning to make them heavy, but the fears won’t quite settle.  “Only, I wonder if it’s going to keep happening now.  You can’t be there every night to make me feel safe again.”

“I could be,” Polly whispers after a pause.

She’s not sure if the words were even meant to be heard. 

“You need your sleep, and protecting me isn’t your job Mila—Polly,” she corrects softly.

“Don’t be a fool—you’re as worthy of my protection as any of the rest of the family.  Besides, I haven’t slept since they executed me.  Might as well give my mind something to do at night.  Any time it happens again, come straight to me and I’ll sort it out.”

“Even if that means having a permanent new bedmate?”

“Especially then,” Polly replies throatily, eyes twinkling at her in the firelight. 

Phyllis freezes.  She’s imagining the implication, she has to be.  It’s the whiskey getting to her head, making her read signals that aren’t there.  Polly would never want her here like that.

“I don’t understand why you’re so kind to me.  Some would have let me go for what I did tonight, and you’ve brought me into your bed just so I can sleep.”

Polly puffs thoughtfully on her cigarette looking at the ceiling.  Bravely, Phyllis slides slightly closer.

“Because… because I could’ve shot you tonight.  Christ, Phyllis.  What would I do without you?”

“I think you’re more than able to dress yourself.”

“That’s not what I meant.  I—” Polly breaks off.

“What did you mean?”  Phyllis reaches out an arm in the dim light and clasps Polly’s shoulder like she’d done before.  “Now you’re the one trembling.”

Polly huffs and takes another drag of her cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it aside to the ashtray on her end table.  She lets the smoke out slowly and turns, looking small buried under the sheets and shaking as she faces Phyllis.  The orange of the fire reflects off her eyes, and Phyllis realizes they’re full of unshed tears. 

“You’ve had enough to frighten you tonight without me adding to it.”

But that’s not an explanation, and now that the can’s been opened, Phyllis can’t let it close again until she knows.  There’s a new sense of bravery in her limbs, and she moves her hand from Polly’s shoulder down the length of her arm and clasps her hand, stilling it.  They’re nearer now, both having inched closer to the center of Polly’s large bed.

“Please tell me,” Phyllis whispers.  “I need to hear you say it.”

“It’s easier to show you.”

Polly’s voice is low, like a rumble, crackling in the space between them.  Phyllis moves until they’re nearly connected, and she waits.

“Then show me.”

There’s another puff of air on her cheek now, but this one is warm and full of life, and Phyllis doesn’t shy away from it.  She doesn’t tremble or close her eyes—though this time, Polly does—and she waits patiently as ever for the breath to close in upon her.

Softly, tentatively, Polly’s lips find hers in a kiss.

Soon Phyllis is kissing back, and they’re a mess of clashing and crumbling rules, clinging to one another.  Phyllis needs something solid in her grip and Polly, she suspects, needs to feel that she’s really still there, that she hasn’t been harmed, and Polly has kept her safe.

Her name is once more whispered, but this time through lips so recognizable she could nearly cry with joy at the sound.  They pull away, breathless, foreheads pressed together.

“You’ll come here, now, when you’re afraid?” Polly husks, licking at her lips.  “Instead of breaking my house apart?”

“I might be afraid often.  Are you sure?”

“Hmm,” Polly teases, leaning in and kissing again, more firmly this time.  She pulls back just enough to say, “Yes, I think I’m sure.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

Polly leans so close she can feel her smirk against her cheek.  “Then it’s a good thing we’ll have plenty of time to spend together.  I have a feeling that ghost of yours may be quite persistent.”

“That sounds a lot like wishful thinking.”

“Perhaps,” Polly chuckles breathily again.  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see if your ghost is kindly after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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